


delicate in every way but one

by forestdivinity (ForestDivinity)



Series: Doll [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cock & Ball Torture, Crying, Dacryphilia, Doll Play, Dollification, Dominant Geralt, EVERYTHING IS CONSENSUAL AND DISCUSSED, Feminization, Geralt is a good Dom, Heavy BDSM, M/M, No Sex, Paddling, Punishment, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safeword Use, Spanking, Submission, Submissive Jaskier, Total Power Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23470966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestDivinity/pseuds/forestdivinity
Summary: After Jaskier gets into a fight with his arch nemesis - one Valdo Marx - he and Geralt have a long discussion about boundaries and the results of bad behaviour.Doll is in for a long night.-This is a kink heavy series that has a focus on complete submission and total control, however there is a strong focus on consent and safe play, and both characters love each other very much.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Doll [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679176
Comments: 9
Kudos: 202





	delicate in every way but one

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write some punishment fic,,, but make it tender. 
> 
> Yes the title is a lorde lyric. sue me. (pls dont im broke)

The first words out of Jaskier’s mouth the morning after the fight are “I’m not sorry.” It should have been expected really, Geralt had seen the cold steel defiance in his eyes as he’d all but dragged Jaskier, bleeding and bruised to their home. He’s still bruised now, a deep circle under his left eye, his lip swollen and split.

The sight makes Geralt’s rage flair up again and he grits his jaw as he turns back to the steaming mug of tea between his hands. It is hot enough that it would burn even his tongue if he tried to drink it now, instead he is biting his tongue in order to stop himself from shouting. He promised himself long ago to never shout at Jaskier again.

They have other ways of working their problems out. All of them start with a conversation.

And when he turns back his face is careful and impassive. Jaskier had broken so many rules last night he barely knows where to begin. 

“When we started playing, and that was over three years ago now, Jaskier, you agreed to my rules. Even if it was only while we were playing, but you agreed to them. Doll agreed to them. And we’ve gone over them time and time again.” He started, tapping his fingers against the table. 

“And when we got married you agreed to them again. Not just as Doll, as you. We promised each other so much. You promised me you’d be careful... safe.” He almost chokes on the last word and takes a breath to calm himself.

“I’m glad to know that you’re confident enough in this relationship to tell me you’re not sorry. And I never expected you to be perfect, Jaskier. No one ever is.” He rubs the crease between his eyebrows. 

“But last night you deliberately went out and broke some of my most important rules. Jaskier, this isn’t you refusing to eat your vegetables or having a glass of wine. You could have been seriously injured! You could have been killed! And then you started dropping - Jaskier, you could have killed someone. You know that. And yet you went out and did it anyway!”

“Do you know what that does to me? It’s soul destroying. And it makes me wonder if you... if you even respect this? Respect me. Us.” He can’t stop his voice breaking this time, his shoulders shaking a little with anger and upset and fear.

Jaskier sighs and sits down. “A colleague of mine came by to warn me Marx was in town,” he said. “I sent him on his way but didn’t think much of it. Went out to market to get some stuff for dinner and ran into the bastard. He was telling people about- about my episodes from last year, about his theories behind it. And he claimed that they were a result of brain trauma from you throwing me around.”

“Jaskier-“

“Normally I take what he says with a bit of pride and return the snark. But that? That was unacceptable. So I called him out on it, told him to shut up because he didn’t know a damn thing. And he just. Kept. Pushing. So I pushed back. He struck a blow, split my lip. Then he brought up the episodes again and got fairly close to the mark- and then he said...something, I can’t even remember what. But I remember feeling myself go somewhat under. It was a lot like when I go down, but not. And it wasn’t like the time I stabbed that bastard in the woods- no, this was cold, like ice inside of me. He must’ve seen something, because the next thing I know we’re three blocks down by Rosie’s and you’re there and he’s pulled a knife.”

Geralt listened impassively before sighing, tapping his fingers on the table again. “I still think you should have come straight home, as soon as you saw him. You know the man gets under your skin like nothing else, Jaskier... but. Well, I understand that you’re protective over me.” 

At this he allowed himself a fond smile before looking down at his drink again. 

“I can’t stop seeing you dead by his hand, Jaskier. And... seeing you like that terrified me. I’d rather you let a hundred men talk bad about me than put yourself in danger. But, like I said, I understand your reasoning. That doesn’t mean I’m happy, Jaskier. And we need to talk about that drop. Not now, if you don’t want to, but we will.”

Jaskier looked up now, eyes slightly wet. “I’m not sorry for punching him. I’m not sorry for defending your honor. I’m not sorry when I say that if I ever see him again, I’ll likely kill him. But I am sorry I hurt you. That’s the last thing I ever want to do, is hurt you. I love you more than anything. So I will try my best to avoid him from now on, and I won’t actively go picking fights.”

Another sigh, and the bard straightened his shoulders and pulled himself together a little more. “And...we do need to talk about the drop. But, can we do it later? Right now I just- I know I broke a rule, but- can I just hold you? Please?”

“I love you too Jaskier. That’s why it hurts me when you put yourself in danger. Seeing you like that last night was... terrifying.” Geralt murmured before shaking his head as he gestured for Jaskier to come closer. 

“You broke more than one rule, love. And we will deal with that but later. I can’t... I can’t get into that right now. Not while I’m still this shaken. But Jaskier, no matter what rules you break I will never withhold comfort from you.” He murmured, holding his arms out for his lover - his husband. “Never. If you need me, I am always here, love. I’ll always be here.”

Geralt relaxes once Jaskier is wrapped around him, and sure it’s a little uncomfortable on the kitchen chair but it’s also just what he needs, Jaskier in his arms, heavy and present and safe. 

Sometimes he wants to lock Jaskier in his room just to make sure nothing can get at him. It’s a darker twist on his usual fantasies and nothing he’d ever indulge, but it pops up. Especially after Jaskier has been hurt. 

“I love you.” He whispers again, brushing his lips over Jaskier’s hair, clinging tight to him.

* * *

It takes two weeks for both of their tempers to settle enough that they feel ready to have a conversation.  _ The conversation _ . They don’t avoid each other while they wait, but each day seems to drag on longer than before. Geralt misses his husband.

They haven’t Played since before the fight. Haven’t had any sort of sex. Jaskier had tried to initiate something a week into the stony silence but Geralt had looked at him and seen Jaskier bleeding out and he hadn’t been able to think. It had taken two hours for the anxiety to fade and they hadn’t tried again since.

They are in the study when the tension breaks. It is not sudden or painful. Instead it is like a droplet finally falling into a pool of very still water, quiet and somewhat immense. Jaskier looks up, his eyes big and oh so blue, lip quivering as if he might start laughing or crying. At that second he is somewhere in between and he practically slides from the couch to the floor as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Geralt can tell he isn’t so much thinking as doing and his heart aches.

“Jaskier-” He says, and it is  _ Jaskier _ he wants to talk to. Needs to talk to. Doll helps Jaskier manage his panic, the anxiety that seems to thrum through him at every waking moment; helps him calm the nervous twitches of his hands and the words that pour out of him like a barrel has suddenly been unstopped, but Geralt needs his husband to talk to right now, “- tell me what happened?”

A choked sound leaves Jaskier and he sits between Geralt’s legs and tells him just what had happened. The cruelty of the comments, how pointed they had been. Jaskier tells him how much it had hurt to hear and with each word his voice becomes calmer and softer, so much so that wouldn’t realise how his heart had practically dropped from his chest

“He called you a monster Geralt. Implied that you don’t care, that you see me as nothing more than a toy to throw away when you’re done with me and I hated that! It’s not true because I know you cherish me! Cherish us,  _ this _ ! I cherish it too, more than anything, Geralt! It’s so important to me. And hearing it like that... I don’t mind when you objectify me, or our friends. But being called that... him calling you a monster, when you do so well to care for me. Calling me a fuck toy as if you don’t adore me... it hurt. More than I can ever remember hurting... more than Doll has ever been hurt.”

“When I’m down... you’re my whole world. My everything. I mean you’re always my world but it’s more... literal, when I’m Doll. Nothing else exists, nothing else matters. So hearing him insult you, insult our bond, it’s- it’s horrible. I wanted to kill him and there was no thought of morality or legality. I would have done it without a second thought.”

His voice doesn’t waver but there are tears watering up in his eyes. Geralt pets through his hair and soothes him with soft little sounds, squeezing his waist.

“I hate that I hurt you. That I broke those rules. Not my actions, but the fact that it hurt your trust in me because that’s so important to me. To this whole thing. And now I feel so off kilter. I don’t know whether I want to be up or down, all of it seems like too much.” Had he been fully up he might have yelled, instead he just shifted a little, looking down at his painted nails - a Toussaint tip this time. “I don’t know what to do.”

Geralt holds him close for a moment, rubbing his thumb over Jaskier’s wrist. 

“You rely on me, love. That’s what I’m here for.” He says after a moment, tilting Jaskier’s chin up and kissing his cheek ever so gently.

“I understand why everything happened. I know how hard it must have been for you to hear those things. I didn’t realise how protective you were... How protective Doll was. It’s something we’ll discuss again at a later date, I won’t have you hurting yourself to protect me, but I understand, okay? I’m not mad at you for having those feelings. I am mad at you for breaking my rules. We need to discuss that next Jaskier, if you’re up for it?”

Jaskier blinked but nodded after a moment. This discussion was never going to be easy, he’d rather get it done with now. 

“Yes Geralt.” He whispered, curling close to his chest, and Geralt pressed another kiss into his hair. 

“Tell me, love, which rules you broke.” His voice is gentle but firm and he makes no effort to push Jaskier away, which he’s glad for. 

“I... I put myself in danger. I didn’t remove myself from the situation. I dropped and made no attempt to go back up. I got into a fight and therefore I got hurt. I’m not sorry that I did any of it.”

“That’s five rules, love. And not five little ones either. Tell me what’s going to happen?”

“I... You're going to punish me.” Jaskier murmurs, letting his head drop - or at least trying to, Geralt tilts his chin back up, makes him look into those stern eyes. 

“And you accept that? I will punish you Jaskier, and once the punishment is complete you’ll be forgiven. But it will be unpleasant, and it will hurt. Do you understand?” 

Already, Jaskier can feel tears welling up in his eyes - something he knows he’s only getting away with because he’s not all the way down, but he nods, desperately needing the atonement.

“Good. I’m going to tell you your punishment, and you can decide whether you want it tonight or tomorrow.” Jaskier swallows but he nods again. 

“Yes Geralt.” Already he can feel himself slipping down, his tongue heavy in his mouth, but he tries his best to stay present. 

“You are going to kneel, on the stone floor in the kitchen and hold a stack of books - your books - 3 for every rule you broke. Fifteen in total. You will hold them for an hour and fifteen minutes. Every time you drop them, and you will drop them, love, the time stops. Once you’ve collected them all, I add another book. That’s part one.” Jaskier makes a choked sound and more tears well up in his eyes. It’s the sort of punishment he hates, which is obviously why Geralt has chosen it, and he looks up at the library of books around them, wondering which ones Geralt would choose. 

“After your time is up, you have a choice. Either I paddle you first, the ribbed paddle, fifty strokes - ten for each rule you broke - plus five for every book I have to add. Or I will hand spank your poor little balls first. You are due a milking, so I’m sure it’ll hurt. Fifteen strikes, three for every rule broken, which you will count for me.”

“Both spankings will happen though, Jaskier. And you are going to be very, very good throughout this all.” His voice goes deep and growly for a minute in a way that would usually make Jaskier’s head spin, today he’s just filled with something akin to dread. It must show on his face because Geralt’s features soften. 

“You tell me to stop and we don’t do any of this, Jaskier. In fact, I want you to choose a new safeword before anything else. I don’t want his name anywhere near us.” Jaskier swallows but silently agrees, his head feels close to empty though. 

“What about...” He trails off, trying to think of a word that won’t come up. Then he remembers the system he’d seen at a few clubs back in the day. 

“Red-Robin. For a safeword.”

Geralt nods in agreement at the choice and he kissed Jaskier’s cheek softly. 

“Fifty, at minimum, with the paddle will be hard love. You’re going to cry. Doll is going to cry. It’s an inevitability. I won’t punish you further for that. But that’s all I will accept, love. You don’t try to stop me unless you’re saying your word. You don’t move, don’t speak, don’t ask me to pause. You use your safeword or none at all. And if you’re good, I’ll give you a break. Every fifteen strikes. A little water, a breather-“ it’s not as nice an offer as it sounds, a break might allow Jaskier to calm himself but it also allows the ache to sink in, the bite of the paddle will be worse after “-or you can choose to keep going. I won’t even make you count the paddle strikes, not like you’re going to count me spanking your poor balls.” Geralt rarely makes Doll count - it makes them sound a little too alive - but he knows how sensitive Jaskier’s testes are, and he can use his voice to judge whether he’s going too far. 

“Do you accept this, Jaskier?”

He nods once but Geralt narrows his eyes. 

“I need verbal confirmation, love.” He says softly. Jaskier’s tongue is like lead, his throat dry. 

“Yes. Yes, I accept it Geralt. And, I want to do it tonight.” He whispers, knowing the anticipation will kill him otherwise. Geralt hums but nods. 

“Go to the kitchen. Drink two cups of water and have an orange. Once you’ve done that, strip. Fold your clothes and leave them on your usual chair.”

Jaskier scrambles to do as he is told. By the time he’s drunk the second glass of water he’s dropped almost completely into his headspace, his movements calm and meticulous as he peels and eats the orange. 

When he strips, goosebumps raise on his skin, the kitchen air dry and cool. With deft hands he folds his clothes and stands behind the chair. It is hard not to consciously wait for Geralt and it feels like hours have passed by the time he manages to let go completely.

* * *

They have no idea how long it’s been by the time Geralt enters, and Doll doesn’t ask. Doesn’t do anything. Not until Geralt is taking their wrists and slipping a simple, warm nightgown over their shoulders. 

“No need for you to catch a chill.” Geralt murmurs to himself as Doll blinks placidly. Geralt smoothes down the heavy fabric and adjusts it a few times until he’s pleased with how it’s sat. Then he steps back and schools his face into something hard like stone. 

“Knees. Arms held out in front of you, back straight, palms facing the ceiling.”

Doll doesn’t hesitate, the drop to their knees with practised grace. There is no eagerness to their movements, no nerves either. They do not smack their knees, but rather touch the ground lightly and with a well taught carefulness. Geralt will hurt his doll, he won’t allow Doll to be harmed - there’s a difference in it. 

Their breathing is steady as they uncurl their arms. Something inside tells them that this will be unpleasant. The position they’re in is liable to become painful without any extra weight. They don’t try and fight their punishment, nor hurry it along. They simply obey- it is all a Doll should do.

Geralt circles them for a moment before placing the first book in their hands. It’s a thicker tome, hard backed and sturdy. 

“Hold it.” He says and Doll grips the book obediently, fingers curled around the edges of the book. One by one, Geralt begins to add the rest of the books - luckily they’re not all heavy, there’s a few of course, but most of them are slim poetry books. It doesn’t mean that Doll’s arms aren’t aching by the time the last one is added and they blink as Geralt sits down opposite them. 

“Time starts now.”

Doll sinks deeper. There is a clock in the living room but they can’t hear it, so there’s no way for them to track the time. They wouldn’t anyway. Their knees begin the ache where they’re pressed against the hard stone, their arms tremble as the muscles tire. Doll doesn’t cry, doesn’t make a sound.

They don’t know how long it’s been when their arms finally give out, their exhausted muscles giving up entirely and the books fall with a thud to the ground. It’s enough to startle some part of their mind, seeing Jaskier’s precious books on the floor, but luckily none of them are favourites. In fact, they’re all duplicates. 

Geralt isn’t cruel.

Doll doesn’t move even as the books topple from their arms. They continue to look straight ahead as Geralt stands and begins to pick them up, stacking them carefully on the floor. 

“Arms out.” He says and Doll obediently stretches them, ignoring the dull throb that echoes all the way up to their shoulders. Geralt rubs his palms for a moment and makes him stretch for a moment before nodding. 

“That was seventeen minutes. You’re doing very well. That’s another book, and your paddling is now at fifty-five strikes. Nod if you understand.”

Doll nods.

“Arms out, palms up. You have fifty-eight minutes left.”

* * *

Doll has four extra books by the time the punishment is finished. Despite their efforts there are tears rolling down their cheeks, and sweat beading in the hollow of their spine. Geralt had helped them out of the thick nightgown when they’d started to flush and overheat and gotten them drink down a glass of cool water before they’d continued but even with the short break it had been a hard punishment. 

And there was more to come. 

“There we go, Doll, stand up for me, slowly now.” Their legs are numb and standing up is agony, but Geralt has his arms around them, supporting their heavy, limp limbs. 

“A break, first. You did so well, I know that it’s hard for you.” Geralt murmurs and he kisses along Doll’s brow, settling them both on the couch.

Geralt stretches out their arms and legs until they feel a bit less like jelly and he feeds Doll another orange, which they eat obediently even though their body feels very fuzzy and far away. 

“That’s it Doll, you’re doing so well. You have a choice to make, remember, but you can rest for a little longer.” Doll blinks at the reminder, almost forgetting to chew their orange. A choice means having active thought and they have to try and work themself up to the point where they can make a choice. 

“Don’t force it.” Geralt murmurs, covering Doll’s face with his hand and encouraging them to close their eyes. “We’re not there yet. For now, all you have to do is lie there.”

Doll drifts, aware of only Geralt’s body against their own, even the dull ache in their arms and legs fade away but eventually something akin to anticipation begins to twist beneath their skin and they no they’re coming up, just a little. 

Ever perceptive, Geralt shifts them in his arms and encourages Doll to open their eyes, humming when they blink slowly up at him. 

“There we go. Are you ready to make your choice now? Don’t speak yet, just nod or shake your head.” Doll blinks again, still a little fuzzy, but then Geralt’s eyes catch their own and they nod. 

“Do you want me to paddle you first, Doll, or spank you? Both are going to hurt. And remember, you have to count the spanking to your balls.” Geralt gently lifts their legs, folding them until Doll’s knees are tucked under their chin, and his other hand comes to cup Doll’s exposed balls, smoothing a thumb over them. 

“...spanking first, please.” Doll whispers, making sure to remember their manners. Geralt’s fingers squeeze gently where he’s touching but he doesn’t question Doll’s choice. 

“Good. I want you to clear your desk and then bend over it. You will not be restrained, I expect you to keep still regardless. You will count and thank me for each strike. Understood?”

“I understand.” Doll murmurs and Geralt nods, encouraging them to stand. Carefully, they clear the desk of all its little trinkets and papers, the quills and unfinished songs. Each thing gets put away in its proper place - the same way Doll will soon be put in their proper place - and its only when the desk is empty that Doll folds their body over the cool wood. 

Geralt watches impassively the whole time, ignoring the spark of arousal at the sight of Doll’s perfect body bent over - this isn’t a fun Playtime, this is punishment. 

“Spread your legs wider. Your ankles should be in line with the legs of the desk. Can you keep the position?” Doll spreads their legs and it’s uncomfortable but not impossible to hold. Their feet are still flat on the floor, their chest supported by the desk. 

“I can keep the position.”

* * *

Geralt almost sighs at the sight. With their legs spread wide, Doll is utterly exposed and completely at Geralt’s mercy. The jewel in the perineum catches the candlelight, the pretty blue colour of it shining and reflecting the orange-gold of the flames. Doll’s balls are round and hairless - were this not a punishment, Geralt would suck them into his mouth, alternating between wet messy kisses and teasing bites. 

Unfortunately, it is a punishment. He shelves the thought for later.

“You have twenty-five strikes to take. You can cry, whine... any noise is okay. However, you will not speak other than to count. You will not move. You will not like the consequences if you do. The only words I want to hear are numbers, and “thank you, Geralt.”, understood?” 

“Yes, Geralt.” 

Geralt doesn’t give them anymore warning. His hand comes down with a loud slap and it is only years of training that keeps Doll still and silent. They know that it was a light blow, for Geralt, but it still hurts enough that they almost forget their instructions.

“One. Thank you Geralt.” Doll whispers, their voice softer than usual.

By ten, Doll has tears in their eyes, their face flushed from the pain but they’ve yet to cry out, though their breath has started to come in tiny little pants. 

Geralt’s hand comes to caress their balls, they’re red and sore already. His thumb rubs over the piercing behind them and he hums softly. 

“You’re doing so well. Fifteen left. I know it hurts but you’re being so good. Taking your punishment so beautifully.” He murmurs and Doll takes a wet breath through their nose.

The eleventh strike is harder than the last ten and it finally forces a noise out of them. A high sound that seems to echo around the room and the tears fall down their face. 

“Eleven. Thank you Geralt.” It is through sheer force of will that Doll keeps their voice steady, making sure that they don’t shout. Geralt doesn’t give them a moment to catch their breath before the twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth strikes come down and by the fifteenth Doll is properly sobbing, limp against the desk and perfectly still.

Geralt smoothes a hand down their sweaty back and then squeezes at their soft thighs, admiring how beautiful Doll is when they’re taking a punishment. 

“Ten left.” He murmurs before his hand comes down again and again, the strikes lightly but faster now, making Doll stumble a little over their words as they thank Geralt for each one. 

“T-Twenty. Thank you Geralt.” They choke out, unable to see through the mess of tears in their eyes, balls scarlet and tight against their body, practically radiating heat. The pain is sharp and intense, the thought of five more strikes making them whimper pathetically. 

“It’s okay. You’re doing so well. I know it hurts, I know you don’t like it, do you remember your word? Tell me it, if you do.” 

Doll hiccups but breathes out “Red-Robin” their voice thick with tears. 

“Do you need to use it?” Geralt can see how they’re struggling. If Doll safewords now there would be no judgement, but it’s up to them. Doll blinks through the tears and sniffs. 

“No Geralt.” They eventually reply, relaxing their tense muscles.

“Five more. These are going to hurt, Doll.” Geralt warns and his hand comes down with a crack that forces a wail out of Doll, their whole body going tense before they relax a moment later. Thankfully, Geralt doesn’t seem to count “tensing” as movement right now. 

“Twenty-one. Thank you Geralt.” Another crack, another number, until the last one comes down with enough strength to bruise. Doll screams out the last number and melts into the desk, their face blotchy and soaked with tears. 

“It’s okay, you did so well, Doll. I’m so proud of you. You took it so well, didn’t move an inch, so good for me.” Geralt whispers as he rubs Doll’s thighs, unable to take his eyes off the bright red blush of Doll’s balls. 

They look so pretty. He loves pampering his Doll. Sometimes he likes seeing Doll in pain too. 

“Can you stand?” He asks Doll, watching as they try to push off the desk. 

“I can’t. No, Geralt.”

“That’s okay.” Geralt murmurs, carefully gathering Doll into his arms, kissing his temple and brushing their sweaty hair from their face. 

“You look so pretty.” Geralt sighs, carrying him into the kitchen and Doll can’t help but whimper when their sore balls rub against the fabric of Geralt’s shirt. 

“Shh. I want you to be quiet now.”

* * *

Doll goes silent and limp against him. Some part of them wonders how they’re going to take seventy strikes from the paddle, tears still leaking quietly down their cheeks. 

“We’re going to take another break now.” Geralt murmurs and takes a cushion off one of the dining chairs. “Kneel up for me, you don’t have to put any weight on your balls. Hands by your sides.” 

Grateful for the barrier between their already sore knees and the floor, Doll kneels. Geralt smiles fondly at them and brings a cloth over, wiping the dried tears away from their face.

“You’ve been very good for me. I don’t like having to punish you but you’re taking it so well.” Geralt murmurs, kissing his forehead once Doll is clean.

Doll blinked at him quietly, their face still flushed, nose cherry red from where they’d been sniffling. 

Geralt smiles down at them, brushing his thumb over their lips before pushing it inside with a wet pop, rubbing their tongue and over the back of their mouth. 

“Open.” He murmurs and Doll lets their mouth fall open properly, tongue poking out just slightly from between their pink lips. “So good, so pretty.” Geralt’s voice is soft and it’s enough to have Doll dropping further into their headspace. 

Then Geralt is pulling away, gathering a few finger foods from the pantry and a glass of orange juice, kept sweet and cool in an enchanted box, courtesy of Yen. 

Slowly, he feeds Doll a few sweet, dried figs and pieces of salted meat, encouraging them to drink between mouthfuls. When their limbs stop trembling he sighs and kisses their lips. 

“There we go. I want you to go to the bathroom and relieve yourself. Once you’re done, go to the Dollhouse and wait in position for me.”

Doll stands with easy grace, something that Jaskier has never managed to emulate perfectly when he's not down deep, and they walk to the bathroom in steady, even steps. Geralt watches, catching little glimpses of their tight, spanked balls when their thighs part a little and he has to take a moment to palm at his cock.

He's not truly aroused, this is a punishment and he's taking it seriously, but the sight is enough to have residual heat curling in his belly - especially after two weeks without sex.

Maybe tomorrow. Doll will be sore, but Geralt has methods of getting off, that doesn't involve touching Doll at all. 

Seventy strikes. It's a lot to take on top of the already difficult punishment Doll has already had. Geralt isn't sure whether they'll be able to take it but it isn't a call he'll make. He knows Jaskier needs the relief that comes with being punished, if Geralt backs down now he'll likely spiral until he earns another brutal punishment. That doesn't mean Geralt isn't considering other options, if Doll safewords out, needs to stop.

Geralt waits for ten minutes and then another ten just to be safe, before he makes his way up to the Dollhouse. The door is slightly ajar, the hinges on it are slipping and will need to be retightened at some point but Geralt keeps getting distracted and forgetting to do so. From the outside it is innocuous, the same brown wood as every other door in their home. 

The real treasure lies inside.

When Geralt enters, Doll is on their knees on the soft, fluffy rug that Geralt had bought years ago, forehead against the floor. Doll has lots of positions, but Geralt thinks this one might be his favourite, it makes them look so small and completely at his mercy. A thing, left in the middle of the room until Geralt comes back to play again.

He circles Doll for a moment and presses a kiss to the back of their head. 

"So good."

"Up." He murmurs as he moves away, not bothering to watch Doll unfold as they stand. It's a show he loves but now is not the right time. Instead he makes his way over to the chest at the end of the bed to find the paddle they'd agreed on. 

Jaskier hates it. Geralt has used it on him a few times, back before Doll became their main type of play but it's not a limit. Just an intense dislike. Mostly because, in Jaskier's own words, 'it hurts like a bitch'. Geralt had laughed at that and rolled his eyes as he rubbed salve into Jaskier's poor, throbbing ass. 

'That's the point, love.' He'd murmured before kissing Jaskier, but they'd agreed to only use it as a punishment if Jaskier broke a major rule.

Well, this time he'd broken five. 

Geralt doesn't feel bad about his choice of implement. He takes it out and sets it on the bed. It looks dangerous, against the pale cream silk of the duvet and he smiles to himself before finally turning to look at Doll.

They are stood perfectly still, hands crossed behind their back, staring at the wall behind Geralt. If it wasn't for the silent rise and fall of their chest, Geralt wouldn't have thought they were alive. The thought makes him swallow in arousal.

"Kneel on the bed. Face down. Arms beneath you." He tells them as he picks up the paddle, getting reacquainted with it's grip, the weight of it in his hand. There is no hesitation as Doll walks over to the bed and Geralt is proud of them for that. 

"Good, Doll, that's right. Spread your legs a little wider." He adjusts the position until he's happy and then squeezes the firm flesh of Doll's ass with his hand. It is tight with muscle but covered in a layer of fat which gives it pleasing softness, just enough give that Geralt can't get enough of.

He doesn't want Doll to count for this, wants to see how deep they'll go, how much they can take. It is often that Jaskier earns them a true punishment spanking and Geralt is just enough of a sadist that he enjoys it when Jaskier does. 

"Remember, you can cry, scream, make noise. But no talking. No moving. The only word you're allowed is your safeword, and I expect you to use it if you need to. Nod if you understand."

Doll nods against the sheets, their skin almost matching the silk in tone. Not for long, Geralt thinks. Soon their poor ass and thighs are going to be aflame, their skin flushed with exertion. 

* * *

  
  


"Good." He doesn't start immediately, instead he rubs his hands over the swell of Doll's ass, squeezing lightly at their thighs, watching little goosebumps appear on their skin. Doll is the prettiest thing Geralt has ever seen. It's almost a shame that he's going to leave bruises. 

And then he strikes. The slap-thud of the paddle echoes around the silent room but it isn't a hard strike by any means. Though the ribbing of the paddle means it is still sure to hurt, Geralt isn't going to start without warming Doll up first. He's punishing them, not trying to be cruel.

There is no rhythm to Geralt's strikes. The first ten come down light enough but Doll is still whimpering by the end of them, so high and soft that Geralt doesn't think they even realise they're making the sound. Their ass is already turning a bright pink, the ribbed design of the paddle leaving stripes across their pale skin. 

He rubs a hand over the warmed skin and rolls his shoulder after those first ten, smelling the tell-tale salt of teardrops in the air. When he looks at Doll's face they've yet to spill though and Doll lets out one sniffling breath before their little cries stop too.

Geralt resists the urge to praise them - it's not the time - and then brings the paddle down with a resounding crack. Warm up over. Doll doesn't cry out or move but their body tenses up tight as the pain ricochets through them. Geralt barely gives them a second to recover before bringing the paddle down again, over and over. Not all of them are quite as hard but he focuses on the round swell of Doll's ass throughout it, alternating cheeks until they're both a bright, burning red and Doll is sobbing into the sheets, tears streaming down their pretty face.

At twenty-two Geralt takes another pause. Doll already looks a wreck. They are stone still on the bed bar their rapid blinking, cheeks a blotchy pink and soaked, drool leaking down their chin. 

Their ass is radiating heat. Geralt's hand hovers just about it, admiring the deep lines that mar the once creamy flesh. Less than fifty left. Twenty with this paddle is hard enough, any other day it would be enough for Geralt to praise Doll but there is still a punishment to give out.

Geralt stretches his arm out again and then brings the paddle down thrice in quick succession, this time on the back of Doll's left thigh. They won't be sitting easy for days after this. Geralt smirks as he imagines Jaskier wincing and bouncing whenever he tries to get comfortable. Imagines Doll, who sinks down and stays there no matter how much it must hurt.

He repeats his actions on the right thigh and adds two more for good measure, bringing the count up to thirty. Doll is making hurt, hiccuping noises against the bed sheets, Geralt can see their thighs beginning to shake. It is small enough for him to ignore. Doll is trying so very hard to be good but there's a limit to what human muscles can take. Geralt won't punish them more for that. 

Not this time at least. Not when Doll has already taken so much.

He pushes Doll's legs a tad wider, so he can see the pale skin of his inner thighs. Geralt knows how deliciously sensitive they are. Once he'd whipped Doll there, one on each thigh, and Jaskier had whimpered for weeks whenever he put his legs together. 

It's a slightly awkward angle this time but Geralt doesn't need to swing too hard. Instead he brings the paddle down light and easy on the exposed skin, the same spot each time, until there is a bright red mark on the inside of Doll's thigh. Seven careful hits. He has to resist the urge to pinch that spot as Doll whimpers, sliding the paddle over it in a slightly cruel caress.

Geralt places the paddle to the side for a moment as he pulls Doll's legs together, listening to them gasp at the pressure on the new sore spot before he pushes their knees forwards until they're all but squished beneath Doll's chest. The change in position forces their hips up higher into the air, pulling the muscles taught, exposing the crease between thigh and ass.

Geralt traces the sit spots with his finger and then rubs at them with his thumbs, feeling the knots of tension beneath Doll's smooth skin. It is enough to quiet the louder whimpers before he picks up the paddle again. Thirty-seven. Thirty-three to go. 

The paddle comes down with another echoing crack. Doll practically screams into the duvet, blinded for a moment by the pain. Geralt brings the paddle down again and again over the sensitive crease on each leg until Doll is sobbing.

At forty-nine the word comes.

"Red! Red-robin! Red-robin!" Doll gasps out, repeating it even though Geralt had dropped the paddle the split-second that it had left Doll's mouth. 

* * *

"Shh, oh you did so well, so good for me Doll." Geralt tells them, not yet daring to move Doll who is locked up tight in place. "You're so good for me, you took that so well, so perfect, I'm so proud of you." He whispers, stroking down Doll's back, smoothing his hands over their sides, taking careful measures not to touch the abused flesh. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you. S-Sorry I broke your rules." Doll chokes out and Geralt soothes them with a kiss to their hip. 

"It's okay. You're forgiven." He murmurs but Doll shakes their pretty face, messy with tears and spit. 

"No, no, I didn't finish... didn't finish the punishment." They gasp out and Geralt fights off the frown, knowing how important it is for Doll to take whatever Geralt wants. A safeword means an end to their play, though Jaskier doesn't always surface immediately. Doll doesn't have to finish the punishment. 

They want to. They can't. 

"We'll discuss it later. I want to look after you right now. If you still want to finish it later, we'll talk about it, but for now we're done, okay?"

Doll hiccups again and then looks up and Geralt can tell it's more Jaskier than not now and that's okay. 

"You're forgiven. I'm so proud of how well you took that, love, you were so good the entire time." Jaskier breaks at that and launches himself at Geralt despite the throbbing of his body, burying his face in Geralt's broad chest as he cries. 

"I-I'm sorry I hurt you. Broke your trust. N-Not sorry for hitting him-" Geralt rolls his eyes at that, but Jaskier can't see it so it's fine. That much was to be expected at least. "- but I'm sorry I got in that situation in the first place. Sorry I made you worry. Never want to hurt you Geralt." He babbles and Geralt hushes him with a kiss to his temple, stroking down Jaskier's neck and back.

"Jaskier. You are forgiven. It's done and it's past us. All that matters now is the future." Geralt tells him, giving Jaskier a little squeeze around the chest and the bard finally relaxes a little, though tiny tears of pain still leak down his cheeks. When he presses too hard on one particularly sore spot he gives Geralt a pout and wide, pleading eyes. Geralt raises a stern brow. 

"You know the rules. No salve after a punishment. Not unless you need it. And you don't, I didn't break skin and you're not howling. Be good. Or I’ll make you howl." Jaskier huffs and makes a stroppy sound but Geralt leaves it. Jaskier is a brat and a whiner, a contrast to how he is when he's Doll, but Geralt knows he'd be more annoyed if Geralt had given in.

Geralt holds and kisses him until Jaskier has stopped shaking entirely and then he scoops him up with ease, making Jaskier squeak.

"What do you say, after a punishment, Jaskier?" He murmurs and Jaskier flushes and whines in embarrassment. Geralt brushes the very tip of a finger over his sore ass and gets a weak smack on the chest for his teasing. 

"Thank you." Jaskier mutters out despite his pouting and Geralt smiles fondly despite himself, carrying him to the bathroom with ease. With one hand he wets a cloth to wipe Jaskier's messy face down with again. Jaskier stands against him, having wriggled to be let down but Geralt keeps one arm wrapped around his shoulder, encouraging the skin contact.

“Good boy.” Geralt smiles and kisses his temple and Jaskier lets out a soft, pleased sigh, his eyes slipping shut. It is easy to see that he’s exhausted, blue eyes drooping shut, his body instinctively leaning in towards Geralt’s own and he can’t help but hum and smile, enjoying the subtle weight of his body. “We should get you to bed. Gonna have to sleep on your front for a few nights.” 

Jaskier pouts and headbutts him - or at least tries to - for the teasing. It’s more of an uncoordinated nudge, Jaskier flopping his head into Geralt’s chest like a drunk swan. 

It’s adorable.

Geralt huffs out a laugh and tilts his chin up for a kiss, smoothing his hand down Jaskier’s body until it rests in the small of his back, cradling him close for a moment. It’s been an age since he got to touch Jaskier so gently, with such intimacy. He wants to savour every minute now that they’re here again but he knows Jaskier is dead on his feet, exhausted in a way that Geralt hasn’t seen him in a long time. 

“C’mon.” He murmurs and all but carries Jaskier to bed. By the time Geralt has him situated in the covers he’s practically fast asleep, squirming a little as he buries his face in the pillows. Geralt watches him settle, sitting on the edge of the bed to pet his hair and admire the bright red blemish of his ass. It’s only when Jaskier has fully settled, snoring into the pillow he’s all but smothered himself with, that Geralt allows himself to relax, lying down next to him with a smile.

Everything will be fine. He’s sure of it.


End file.
